


Shots in the Dark

by der_tanzer



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next time Murray has something to say, the guys are going to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shots in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valis2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/gifts).



> With respect to Dr. I. Harold Zimmerman, who taught me more about physics by blowing stuff up in our driveway when I was eight years old than I would ever learn in school.

Nick stood and hurled his wrench across the helipad with a furious burst of obscenities. If Murray had been there, he would have been shocked by both the language and the violence. It was like an R rated movie without the boobs. But Murray wasn't there. Cody was, but he didn't mind. He'd been to war. And Albuquerque. Anyway, he was used to Nick's temper. This was nothing.

Cody slid down from the cargo bay and went after the wrench without saying a word. He brought it back but didn't give it to Nick. There was some more cursing, a little painful kicking of the toolbox, and then Nick sat down next to the buckled strut.

"What the hell am I doing, Cody? I mean, am I totally kidding myself?"

It was mostly a rhetorical question. He knew perfectly well what Cody thought. He also knew what Cody would say, and they were two totally different things. The love of Nick's life was too smart to tell the truth to a man who was already throwing wrenches.

"She's your baby, Nick. You do what you have to do."

"What I have to do is come up with a whole hell of a lot of money." He bowed his head and waited for Cody to offer something better. Something he could _use_. Or not.

"Murray's coming home from Seattle tomorrow. We'll ask him if he has any ideas." He crouched beside Nick and patted his shoulder gently. "Come on, we'll find it somewhere. We always do."

Nick nodded, let Cody comfort him for another minute, and got to his feet.

"Let's clean this mess up and go get some supper. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of helicopters right now."

This was another moment when Cody didn't need to say anything; they both knew what it would be. He helped gather up the tools and they put _Mimi_ back together as well as they could without working too hard. She was just going to have to come apart again before she went anywhere.

"Come on," Cody said. "I'll buy you a burger and we'll see what we can think of. Maybe there's someone over at _Straightaway's_ just waiting to hire us for something big and safe."

"That we can do overnight, without Murray."

Cody gave him a quizzical look and Nick shrugged.

"What? I thought we were dreaming?"

"Keep it up, chucklehead, and you can buy your own supper."

Nick gave his most charming smile and slipped his arm around Cody's waist.

"I kid because I love," he said and Cody smiled back, thinking that by not kissing in public they were being subtle. In fact, their relationship was the only manmade object that could be seen from space.

***

The next morning, Nick went to pick up Murray at the airport while Cody balanced the checkbook and prayed for a client without actually expecting one. They never seemed to get the breaks they really needed. But that day, they did. A woman came knocking half an hour after Nick left, and Cody invited her in. She introduced herself as Mary Temple and shook his hand tentatively.

"I've never hired a detective before," she said hesitantly, "so I don't really know what the procedure is."

"It's pretty simple. Why don't you just have a seat here and tell me what you need? Can I get you something to drink?"

"No. No, thank you. It's—it's kind of embarrassing," she said, taking the offered chair. "I—I think my husband is having an affair. He says he's working late, but when I call, he's never there. And normally he opens the mail and handles the bills, but I opened a credit card statement last week and there were dozens of charges that I couldn't identify. I wrote some of them down before he came home. He was just furious that I'd seen it, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions."

"Oh. Well, do you happen to have that list with you? It might be harmless after all, you know."

"I know. But he's had affairs before and I told him if it happened again, I'd leave him. He has money stashed someplace, too; bank accounts that I can't access. So if he is having an affair, I'd want to track those down. Do you do that sort of thing?"

"It just so happens one of our partners is an expert in that sort of thing."

She offered him a sheet of paper, smiling for the first time at the thought of having an expert of any kind on her side. Cody looked it over, scanning her neat handwriting for anything familiar. Sadly, too much of it was.

"Mrs. Temple, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but about half of these charges are from—well—houses of ill repute. We've dealt with their—clients—before."

"Houses of—? They have those here?"

"They have them everywhere. Wonderland Entertainment is officially a massage parlor, but they offer a wide variety of personal—attentions. Good Times Party Planners, they mostly provide adult—entertainment," he said awkwardly. He really hated explaining these things to wives. But she looked so puzzled and attentive, he felt he had no choice. "For—uh—bachelor parties, that sort of thing. And NoTell Incorporated. is a cheap motel about thirty miles up the coast. The rest of these, I don't know. Our computer expert will be here in a couple of hours, though, and he'll probably find out much more than you want to know."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. So it's worse than an affair," she said crisply. "It's all kinds of women."

"I'm afraid that's what it looks like. Mrs. Temple, I'm very…"

"Don't call me that. I'll be going by my maiden name from now on, Price. Mary Price. And I'll still be needing you to gather as much information as you can. Photos, even, if you can get them."

"We can, Miss Price. That's no problem. Our rate is three hundred a day, plus expenses. Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all. I'll be taking it out of his bank account, one way or another. Thank you, Mr. Allen."

"You're most welcome," he said, smiling instinctively, charming her without even trying. She smiled back, as if he had provided some hope in her life, and he dialed it down just a touch. It was good to have a cover of attractive women, but he was alone here and didn't want it to get out of hand. "We'll get right to work on this and probably give you a call tomorrow. If you could just write down your information for me—"

"Of course." She kept smiling as she wrote her name and phone number on the back of the page she'd given him. "I can come by again, if that would be easier. You wouldn't want to get my husband on the phone by accident."

"No, we don't want that," he said, realizing just then that she hadn't said what her husband did for a living.

"Thank you, Mr. Allen. You're so thoughtful. I just didn't know what I was going to do."

"Well, don't you worry. About this, at least. Just—uh—can you tell me where Mr. Price works? It will make tracking him a lot easier, if we know where to start."

"He works for the police department," she said lightly and Cody's heart sank. But maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe he was a clerk or something similarly insignificant. Before he could ask, she was heading out the door and he had to hurry to see her over the rail. When he tried to speak again, she interrupted with sweet thanks and marched away, head held high.

Cody stood on deck, watching her climb the gangway and wondering what was going on. She was in an awful hurry to get out of there all of a sudden. And for the rest of it, there were no tears, no signs of surprise or disappointment, even. And the flirting. That was just weird. He'd be glad when Nick and Murray got back. They would be able to help him figure this out.

***

Murray looked too tired to stand up straight when he boarded the boat, and Nick was carrying his bags for him, but when Cody said they had a case, his soft brown eyes lit up and he was eager to begin.

"Don't you want a nap or something?" Cody asked. "You look like you've been up for three days."

"I was. There was a theoretical physics convention in conference room C and we all ended up getting together. It was so boss. If you think computer scientists are wild, you should see how physicists party."

"Do I want to see that?" Cody asked Nick, who shrugged.

"Oh, yes," Murray said happily. "They had a barbeque lighting competition. You know, to see who could light the charcoal the fastest? I don't know where they got that liquid hydrogen, but it was a real blast." He laughed at his own joke, sounding strung out and almost hysterical, and Cody slipped an arm around his waist, edging him subtly toward the stairs.

"Why don't you just lie down for a bit? She's not expecting anything until tomorrow anyway."

"No, no, I'm fine. I want to hear about the case. Just let me get some coffee and I'll be all ready to search for clues." He pulled away and went to the coffee pot, pouring a cup with trembling hands.

"Let him go," Nick whispered. "He'll crash when he gets tired enough." Then, in a normal tone, "Tell us about the case. Who's the lucky client that's gonna get my chopper back in the air?"

Cody told them what he knew, showed them the notes she'd brought, and waited to see what they would say.

"She was flirting with you?" was Nick's first response. "Man, you must be dreaming."

"I don't understand," Murray said, before Cody could answer.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"No, Nick, I mean this. She has the whole thing right here. If she has the credit card statements, what does she need us for?"

"I don't know, Boz. She said she wanted to find his hidden bank accounts."

"But she also said she could pay without any trouble. Where's the money coming from if she doesn't have a job and can't access his accounts? I think I'd better look into this now." He got up and went down to the office, his single-minded determination blocking out their protests and his own exhaustion.

"He's got a point," Nick said. "Are you sure you told us everything?"

"As best as I remember it. Do you think it's another setup?"

"Buddy, I don't know what to think. Let's go see if he finds anything before he falls asleep on his keyboard."

The two of them sat quietly, playing rummy on a corner of the desk while Murray fussed over his searches and printed out sheaves of paper without comment. Only once did they interrupt, when Cody noticed a long, straight burn across the backs of all four fingers on Murray's right hand. Murray glanced at it, as if uncertain what he was talking about, and then smiled.

"The physicists had bottle rockets and we were competing to see who could hold the most at once. I won, but my timing was a little off. You know, the learning curve for hand-held bottle rockets is surprisingly steep." He was still chuckling to himself as he resumed typing and Cody was amazed.

"You won?"

"What? Oh, yes. You see, I had the longest fingers. Luckily, first prize was a bucket of ice."

Cody turned to Nick, who just shrugged and tossed his next card. Cody picked it up and laid out his hand.

"I'm better at Hearts," Nick muttered and began shuffling the deck.

Halfway through the fourth game, Murray stood up and ripped the last page off the printer.

"Guys, look at this. Bryce Temple, Mary Price's husband, is a state cop. He has bank accounts and credit cards in half a dozen names and his phone bill is full of calls to a number in LA. A Miss Charlene Hurst."

"So he's definitely cheating," Nick said.

"And that's probably not all. I think he's taking bribes or something, too. There's way too much money here for a state trooper's salary."

"Well, that's not our problem. She wants information to take to a lawyer and it looks like you've got it," Cody shrugged.

"But aren't you curious about where the money's coming from? I think I can find out with just a little more digging. It's really interesting, because according to this—"

"No, Murray, leave it alone. We'll just follow him for a couple nights, get some pictures of him with a girl or two, and turn the whole mess over to the scorned wife," Cody said. "The less involved we are with the cops, the better."

"Yes, but—"

"No, Murray," Nick seconded. "We don't really know anything. These are all just shots in the dark and you know better than that. Come on, you need to get some rest and take care of that hand. The last thing you need is for that burn to get infected."

Murray blinked in confusion and glanced at his left hand first.

"Oh, that? That's nothing, Nick. When I was at MIT we used to build rockets, you know, for fun, and one time—"

"Rockets?" Cody muttered. Nick just shrugged.

"That's great, Boz, really. But it's after one now, and if you want to be awake for the stakeout, you'd better get some sleep."

"Right, sure. Just, about the money—"

"We'll worry about that later, Murray," Nick said patiently. "Let's go put something on your hand."

He pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted tiredly at them, debating whether or not it was worth pursuing his point. But maybe they were right. Maybe it was none of their business. And, if it was, there was probably still time to straighten it out.

Nick dabbed aloe vera cream on the blisters and wrapped Murray's hand in clean gauze, effectively binding his fingers together. Murray didn't ask how he was supposed to get his work done like that. He'd just wait until the guys forgot about it and then take the bandage off.

Under their gentle persuasion, he went to their cabin and lay down, convinced he wouldn't sleep. Well, at least he could do some reading. One of the physicists had given him a copy of a recently published paper exploring the arguments against relativity, and while Murray didn't expect to agree with it, he was always interested in the other side of things. Nick kissed him, told him again how glad they were he was back, and left the room. Cody hung around a minute to ask one question. Just not the one he wanted to answer.

"So, Boz, just out of curiosity, how many bottle rockets did you have hold to win the bucket of ice?"

"Twenty-four. Which was four more than the hacker from New Orleans who also made it to the semi-finals."

"And I thought geeks didn't know how to party," he sighed, stroking Murray's shaggy hair softly.

"Oh, no," Murray yawned. "We're really a dangerous group of happening individuals."

Cody smiled and kissed him, soft and slow, very nearly derailing the nap right there. But Murray could hardly keep his eyes open, and even the paper was forgotten by the time Cody closed the door.

"You think we should have listened to him before?" Nick asked when Cody came up to the salon. "About that cop?"

"If it's important, he'll bring it up again. Poor little guy needs a nap more than anything right now. And I said I'd call Miss Price and let her know what was going on."

"Right, Miss Price. Need to get some more flirting in, don't you?"

"Oh please. She's not my type, Nick. You know I like hairy chests and adam's apples."

Mary was anxious to come over and discuss it in person, and Cody was unable to dissuade her. But at least he wasn't alone. Nick could run interference, and they could always wake Murray if it got out of hand.

To their surprise, Mary had the same reaction to the information that Murray did.

"Where on earth did all this money come from?" she asked at once, and looked extremely disappointed when they didn't know.

"Well, I have to have some kind of accounting. I've already spoken to a divorce lawyer and she says I have to know how much there is and where it comes from in order to apply for my fair share."

"Well, yes," Cody said slowly. "But it's probably illegal, which means it isn't a continuing source of income, and there's not really such a thing as a 'fair share'."

"Uh-huh. Just so I understand this, if he's doing something illegal, and you accidentally get evidence while you're investigating him, then he could go to jail."

"That's a possibility."

"But if he goes to jail, I won't be able to collect any alimony at all."

"That's right," Nick said, rather sharply. "But look at the bright side. If he goes away while you're married, you get everything by default."

"Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that." She went over the printouts again, studying them carefully before laying them aside. "I'll get copies of all of this when you're finished, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cody said, shooting Nick a look that told him to shut up for now. "We're going to try and pick up his trail when he gets off work this evening and we should have a lot more for you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Allen. I just don't know what I'd do without you—I've just felt so alone in all this, and you're so nice…"

"It's all part of the service," he said, smiling wide and fake-sincere. "You can count on us."

"Yes, I know. And thank you, Mr. Ryder. I just know you can take care of this for me."

They saw her off as quickly as decently possible and this time Cody was relieved to see his own distrust reflected on his partner's face.

"Take care of what?" Nick asked when she was gone. "What's this broad setting us up to do?"

"I have no idea. But I think the next time Murray has something to say, we'd better listen."

"I don't know; that's pretty risky. He's usually got a lot to say."

"If you've got a better idea, I'm wide open. In the meantime, I need to change the plugs on the _Ebb Tide_. You want to give me a hand?"

"No, but I will."

***

They spent a good two hours buried in the _Ebb Tide_'s engine and when they went in to clean up, Murray was already back at his computer. He'd loosened the gauze on his hand enough to type, and shiny streaks of blister flashed as his fingers danced over the keys. Nick wanted to reprimand him and had to fight hard to remind himself that Murray wasn't a child.

"How's it going?" he asked instead. "Did we make too much noise?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep for long. This thing was really bothering me."

"What, your hand?"

"My—no, why would my—oh, this? No, that's nothing. I mean this thing with Bryce Temple. He stashed away nearly a half million dollars last year and I have no idea where it came from. That's big, Nick."

"Yeah, half a million's a lot of money."

"That's not what I mean. I mean, it is, but that's not the point. It's the total lack of a trail. It just comes out of nowhere and goes into these off-shore accounts. It's like he's, I don't know, _making_ it or something."

"You think he's a counterfeiter?"

"Well, no, that's very unlikely. Where would a California State Police officer get that kind of equipment? But he's doing something, and whatever it is, it's deep. The only clue I can find is a little bit scary."

"Yeah, what's that?"

Cody came in then and shot them both questioning looks. Nick shook his head briefly and Murray went on.

"His arrest rate's gone way down over the last two years. He used to have one of the highest arrest rates in the department, but starting in '85, it's dropped by nearly twenty-five percent. He's still logging the same hours, covering the same ground, but he's not bringing in the criminals anymore."

"How can that be? Wouldn't someone have noticed?" Cody asked, suddenly wishing he had never met Ms. Mary Price-Temple at all.

"Maybe he used to pick up a lot of the same guys and now they're, I don't know, locked up or dead or something," Nick offered.

"You're half right," Murray sighed. "He did used to pick up a lot of the same guys. Now they're on the street and he's leaving them alone. I checked."

"That's not good," Cody agreed. "Can you make anything else out of it?"

"Well, no one else is picking them up, either. And there are a few more cops in the department with similar banking habits. I think this is serious, guys. Bigger than bribery, even. More like conspiracy."

"So who are these criminals that have supposedly gone straight?"

"Mostly drug dealers, and mostly low level. But one of them, he used to work for Santana, and now he's kind of running the old operation. All the others seem to work for him."

"So these cops are, what, dealing for Santana's replacement?"

"I think they might be. It's too much money just for looking the other way."

"What about Mary?" Cody asked. "Do you think she's in on it? She was talking today like she'd just as soon have her husband killed as divorce him."

"Well, I looked her up, too," Murray said, almost hesitantly.

"And what did you find?"

"Enough to make me wish I was back in Seattle. She used to be a—a hooker. Temple arrested her a couple of times in '83, and then they suddenly got married in '84, right before he stopped arresting the bad guys."

"Oh, that's just great," Nick sighed. "Look, I'm all for doing our part to preserve peace and justice, but I say we get out of this right now. Tell Mary Temple or Price or whatever her name is that we've done as much as we're going to and she can hire another batch of suckers if she wants to bring down the CSP."

"But we can't," Murray exclaimed, leaping out of his chair. "I've got the information right here. No one else seems to be onto it and if we don't do something, who will?"

"Murray, babe, it's not our problem. We get into enough trouble just trying to keep Quinlan's chestnuts out of the fire. We don't need this shit, too."

"Well, I'm going to. There must be somebody high up that I can report this to."

"Wait," Cody said, stepping between them and gripping Murray's shoulder. He was so tense he was vibrating and Cody's fingers dug instinctively into the tight muscle. "Let's not be too hasty, okay? Let's do the tail tonight and see what's really going on. There's too much here that doesn't add up."

"Like what?" Nick challenged. Cody turned to him, still massaging Murray's shoulder absently.

"Like, if this guy's taking big money off the street, why's he putting hookers on his credit card?"

"He's not," Murray said quietly.

"What?" they said in unison, two pairs of blue eyes going wide with shock.

"I got his statements. He hasn't charged any of the things she said he did. I wondered why she wrote it down instead of bringing the actual statements, so I checked. He shops at Sears, not NoTell."

"Then why did she—?"

"To make us investigate him," Cody interrupted. "That's got to be it. She knows everything and she wants someone to take him down."

"That's what I was thinking," Murray said.

"Which means he's really dangerous," Nick put in. "Probably someone we want to avoid."

"If he's that dangerous, it's all the more reason we need to do something. Come on, guys. This man's a cop and he's—he's betraying the public trust. He's as bad as anyone he's arresting, or not arresting, which appears to be more the case. We can't just let him get away with it."

"Murray, if we don't do this, how long are we going to have to listen to you talk about it?"

"With the information I have now, two months. If I get any more dirt, that number could go up exponentially."

"Great," Nick sighed. "All right, we follow him for one night. Two nights, max. Then we turn it over to the authorities and back the fuck off."

"What authorities?" Cody asked.

"I don't know. Quinlan, I guess. He doesn't like us, but he's clean and he hates dirty cops. He'll know what to do."

Murray nodded, the relief of being believed, along with Cody's still moving fingers, lulling his tired body back to sleep.

"Great. Now that we have that settled, let's get something to eat and go see what crooked cops do after a hard day of not serving the public."

"Good idea," Nick said, shaking Murray gently by the other shoulder. "You still awake, Boz?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." He got up and followed them out, smiling shyly as Cody held onto his hand. He really was very tired.

***

Murray was dozing in the back of the Jimmy, still recovering from his weekend of barbeques and bottle rockets, while Nick and Cody watched Bryce Temple circle the block in his cruiser. He'd picked up a few people and let them out again, but what he was doing now, they couldn't guess. It seemed like random driving, until a woman came out of one of the buildings to stand by the curb. Temple picked her up and Cody waited half a minute before following.

"I thought he wasn't doing hookers," Nick murmured.

"I think the only fact we've really established so far is that he isn't paying for them with his credit card."

"True. A guy like this probably knows how to get them for free."

They tailed him as he drove to the park and let the woman out, and that seemed to be it. Temple took his cruiser home, apparently off duty, and Nick got one last picture of him going into his own house.

"So that's it, I guess," Cody said, making the block so Temple wouldn't see them drive past again. "We've got a lot of pictures and no idea what they're pictures of."

"Yeah, well, you and me don't get paid to analyze. It's after ten now, let's just go home and get some sleep. Murray can figure all this out in the morning."

But when they got back to the boat, Murray didn't want to go to bed. He'd slept too long in the car and wanted to start developing the photos. It had to be done in the dark anyway, and if Nick and Cody were asleep (or at least in bed), he wouldn't have to worry about them wandering through.

He said goodnight and went to work setting up his equipment on the galley counters and stovetop, hanging blankets in both doorways to block out any peripheral light.

"I know we need the money," Nick said as he undressed in the aft cabin, "but I hate when he gets like this. Napping in the car doesn't count as sleep, everyone knows that."

"And you wanted some Murray-lovin', didn't you? Come on, Nick, admit it. I saw how you were fussing over his poor burned hand all day."

Nick threw his shirt in Cody's face and got another burst of laughter for his trouble.

"I just don't want to see it get infected, do you? You know he won't take care of himself. What the hell was he thinking, anyway, holding twenty bottle rockets in his fucking hands?"

"Twenty-four," Cody grinned. "The hacker from New Orleans did twenty."

"And I hope he blew his thumb off. I mean, come _on_. These guys are supposed to be _smart_."

Cody pulled him roughly into a hug, squeezing harder when he tried to struggle.

"I get it, Nick. You missed him, you were worried about him going off by himself, and now you're upset because he could have gotten hurt. But he's okay. He's developing photos not thirty feet away and his hand is fine. I'm sure he'll even show you how fine, as soon as he's satisfied that the case is over. Tonight you'll just have to make do with me."

Nick smiled to himself and bit Cody's neck softly. The quickest way to get out of an argument was to distract him with something more fun. Nick backed Cody over to the bed and bore him down, straddling his slim hips and kissing him hard. Cody gripped his strong shoulders, arching against him, aching for contact. Nick forgot all about Murray, along with Temple, and everything else that wasn't the man beneath him.

***

Something woke Nick in the dead of night. A subtle rattle, a mild thump. At first he thought Murray had gotten up for something, as he often did, but Murray either made much more noise than this, or none at all. Nick felt Cody still beside him and shook him awake, one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

"Somebody's on deck," he whispered. Cody's eyes widened in understanding and Nick uncovered his mouth.

"Murray?"

"No. Outside, trying to get in. Murray's probably still in the galley, or in the office. He's not here."

They slid out of bed, pulled on their jeans and grabbed their guns. Nick led the way as they crept up the stairs, straining to see in the poor light that filtered in from the pier. Two men were coming in through the salon door, one with a pistol and one with a knife so large that the blade flashed even in the dim light.

"This is bad," Nick whispered. "Who the hell are these guys?"

"How would I know? Just watch out for that knife." It was a much better weapon for close quarters than a gun, and the best thing to fight it with would be a sword. Cody made a mental note to acquire one at his earliest convenience. Assuming he had any kind of future in which to do so.

"I'm watching. Come on, we can't just let strangers invade our boat."

They didn't see what made the intruders turn around. For a minute all was confusion, and Nick fired a single shot, aiming high to keep from putting a hole in the deck. A body fell and Cody rushed them, wrestling the knife away and slashing at the other man's gun hand. Nick hit the lights and leapt in swinging. In just a minute both intruders were down, disarmed and pinned.

"Cody, this isn't right," Nick said, looking over the man he was sitting on.

"No kidding. What was your first clue?"

"I shot somebody, didn't I? I mean, I heard someone fall. So where's the bullet hole?"

Cody started and made a cursory examination of the man he was pinning. His arm was cut and bleeding, his face scraped and already starting to swell, but he wasn't shot. He gave Cody a baleful smirk and the truth began to sink in.

"Nick, where's Murray? All this noise, he should be here."

"Oh shit." Nick jumped up, no longer caring about the intruders, and skidded down the forward stairs. He collided with something in the dark galley, something that hit him in the knees and knocked him on his butt. A gun dug into his ribs and Nick lost his breath for a second.

"Freeze, asshole," came a soft, shaky voice, and Nick went limp with relief.

"Murray, it's me. Put the gun down. Everything's under control." He felt the thin body sag against him and took the gun, sliding the safety on and laying it aside.

"What's going on, Nick? I heard noises and came out to warn you not to get tangled up in my lines here, and someone shot at me."

"What?"

"Yeah, the bullet went right through my sleeve. Scared me to death, let me tell you."

Nick touched the hole in Murray's shirt and said nothing.

"Hey, Nick, is everything okay?" Cody yelled. "Because someone ought to call the cops."

"Coming, Cody," Murray called back. Nick didn't say anything, and when Murray got up, he didn't move. "Nick? Come on, what's going on?"

"Murray, I could really use some help up here," Cody shouted, at the end of his patience. With a last indecisive look, Murray went up to the salon and held Cody's gun on the intruders while Cody tied them up. When the ropes were secured, Cody took his gun back and Murray called the police.

"Hey, where's Nick? What's he doing, making a sandwich?"

"I don't know. He was just sitting down there when I left. Cody, I have no idea what's going on here, do you?"

"I have some. These guys were hired by Bryce Temple, right?"

The two intruders looked at each other and then at the pistol barrel casually flicking from one to the other and shrugged.

"That's what I thought. Temple got our plates tonight and knew someone was onto him, so he sent these goons to shut us up."

"They came close," Murray said. "Someone almost shot me. Just look at this." He turned a little and showed Cody the neat hole through the upper arm of his high buttoned shirt. The fabric was loose enough that the bullet had gone through a fold, leaving two holes without grazing his skin.

"Jesus God," Cody breathed. One of the men on the floor began to laugh and the other started shouting about a frame-up, which Murray thought was a little bit funny, considering. Then Cody spoke again and all the laughter drained out of him. "Murray, they didn't shoot. The only person who fired a shot here tonight was Nick."

"Oh. Oh no." A shadow crossed his face and Cody was afraid for a second that this could get bad. Then he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "That must be why—give me your gun, Cody. I'll stay here and you go check on him. Tell him it's okay."

Cody handed over the pistol without objection and squeezed Murray's shoulder in silent thanks. The little guy could have been freaking out, but he knew enough to realize that they had bigger problems.

Nick was still sitting on the galley floor, his back against the stove front, legs splayed awkwardly in the small space. Cody knelt down beside him and subtly slid both guns a little out of his reach. Over their heads, the galley was crisscrossed by fine lines, hung with newly developed photos of Bryce Temple and his girls. Cody laid his hand on Nick's shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Hey, buddy, come back. Everything's okay. We got the bad guys, the cops are on the way; it's all okay."

"I shot Murray," he whispered.

"No, you didn't. He's fine. Murray's fine."

"I could have killed him."

"No, Nick. You flicked his shirt, that's all."

"I heard him fall."

"He's a bright guy. When bullets are flying, he hits the deck."

"I shot at him," Nick repeated. It seemed to be the only thing that mattered to him right now, and Cody only partially understood.

"Nick, baby," he whispered, "you gotta snap out of it. The cops are coming and we're going to have a lot of explaining to do."

"I can't explain. I don't have any defense. I shot in the dark and almost killed one of my best friends. Again."

That was when Cody finally understood. How could he have forgotten? Twelve years didn't make any difference. _Fifty_ years wouldn't. Suddenly Cody didn't care about anything else. Not Bryce or Mary Temple, not the two thugs in the salon or the prospect of the entire CSP being corrupt. Not even the bullet holes in Murray's shirt mattered compared to this. Nick was back in Vietnam and Cody had to bring him home.

Quinlan was the first person to arrive and he actually laughed when he saw Murray standing over two bound captives with a semi-automatic .45 in his hands. But when he started talking about corrupt cops and hit men, the laughter stopped at once.

"What are you babbling about, jerk-off?"

"Bryce Temple. He's a State Patrol officer and he's—I don't know what all he's doing. But it's corrupt and he sent these guys to shut us up. Please, I have all the evidence. Bank records, photos, it's all down in my office."

"Bozinsky, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do. I always do, and you know it. Look, they broke into the boat with guns and knives. That's worth arresting them for, at least."

"I ain't the one shot nobody," one of them muttered and Quinlan's ears pricked up.

"Somebody's shot? What did you do, Bozinsky?"

"Nothing. No one's shot. Nick fired a round and didn't hit anyone. It's not important. What we need to be worried about is Bryce Temple. If he sent these guys after us, he probably figured out that his wife hired us. Someone needs to check on her."

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute."

Sirens were everywhere by then, red and blue lights flashing off the windows and brightwork, and Murray felt his chance slipping away. As soon as the first uniforms boarded the boat, he laid down his gun and grabbed Quinlan's sleeve. The other man tried to wrench away, but the thin fingers were implacable. He dragged Quinlan down the stairs, stepping around Nick and Cody who were still huddled together on the floor, and led him into the office where stacks of printouts were just waiting to fall into the right hands.

"What's going on with those two? How come they're not up top being the heroes in this little farce?"

"I don't know," Murray said, too distracted to really hear the question. "I guess Nick's upset about something. Here, read this. Please, just this one."

Quinlan snatched the page away with a dramatic sigh. His lined face was studiedly bored for a few seconds and then real emotion began to bleed through.

"Holy fucking hell," he muttered, grabbing for another page. Suddenly he was gathering all of it together, ordering Murray out to the galley to take down the photos and help him get everything out to his car. They stepped over the two men on the floor once again, Murray with a sympathetic, if puzzled, look and Quinlan shouting for the uniforms to get on the radio and send as many units as they could get to the Temple house. Murray tried to hand off his burden, but suddenly Quinlan was holding his arm, dragging him out the door.

"Forget it, brainiac. You stirred up this hornets' nest and I'm damned if I'll be the one standing there getting stung. You're gonna explain all this to the police chief, the state commissioner—hell, probably the governor."

"But—but you have all the evidence…" he said bleakly as two men grabbed his arms and lifted him bodily off the boat. "It's all right here."

"But you're the only one who really understands what it says. Now get your skinny ass in the car and shut the fuck up until I tell you to talk. And that won't be for a while."

Murray sank into the back of Quinlan's unmarked Crown Vic, his papers and photos stacked on the seat beside him, and watched the intruders being led to another car. He wished he could have said goodbye to the guys, wondered when he'd be back, and if Nick would be better then. And he wondered what was wrong with him. Murray thought he'd feel bad if he nearly shot one of them, but Nick was past feeling bad. He looked like he might be going into shock and Murray didn't know if Cody could handle that alone.

He could. With Murray safely locked up in his car, Quinlan went back to the boat and tried to get a statement from Nick and Cody. But Nick wasn't talking and Cody wasn't about to let anyone force him.

"We'll do it tomorrow, all right?" he said. "You have the bad guys, you have enough evidence to take down half the state cops in LA, you don't need us right now."

"I do if your buddy there is shooting up the place."

Nick flinched and mumbled something about Thomas. Cody covered Nick's face with his hand and pressed it gently into his shoulder.

"Lieutenant," he said quietly, "here's the deal, okay? He's having some kind of flashback. I can take care of it, I think, but he's not going to be good for anything for a while. You can yell and make demands all night long, but it won't bring him back any faster."

"Shit," Quinlan said softly. He'd been career Army during the war, an old man among boys like these, and he'd seen too many of them fall apart, during and after. He'd never figured these two for those kinds of problems, but anytime a guy shot a friend it was bound to bother him. "All right, I can hold the brass off until morning, at least. I've got Bozinsky, and Lord knows, that kid can talk enough for any four men."

"Thank you," Cody said, still stroking Nick's cheek absently. "Murray's okay, isn't he? He's really not hurt or—or freaking out?"

"He's fine. Got a long night ahead of him, but he likes to talk. Should be right up his alley."

"Okay, good. Thank you." He didn't know what he was thanking Quinlan for, but he couldn't seem to stop saying it. "Tell him Nick's sorry, would you?"

"What for?" Quinlan said simply. "Geek-boy's not upset and I'm not getting in the middle of—_this_. You two just get your shit together and get down to the police station at eight o'clock sharp. You got that? Eight sharp, or I'll be back out here with warrants."

"Yes, sir," Nick mumbled, and Cody's hand tightened, pressing his face harder against his shoulder.

"We'll be there," Cody said. "Just leave us alone now, please."

Quinlan turned and climbed the stairs without a backward glance. Within five minutes, the boat was cleared of cops and the only sounds were the slapping of waves and the murmur of the neighbors on the pier. They were gone soon enough and Cody knew the police had done that, too. Something else to thank Quinlan for in the morning. Assuming he really could get this together by then.

"Okay, buddy, it's all over," he whispered. "Everyone's gone home and it's all done now. Are you hearing me, Nick? It's okay to come back now."

But Nick was in the jungle.

_Hot and wet. Sticky heat that made a man feel he'd never be cool or dry again. Flying in low, skimming trees, under the radar and dropping fast. The Viet Cong was here, a band of them up from the tunnels, and he had to get there. Landing zone. Where was the landing zone? He spotted it and hit the deck hard, biting his own tongue and bringing a chorus of yells from the men in the back. Thirty seconds on the ground, that was all he had, but something was wrong. Men were spilling out the open door, rifles were cracking, flat and sharp. Someone called out that his strut was buckled and somewhere nearby something exploded. Marker mortar. The next one was going to hit. Shots peppered the skin of his bird and he heard the rotors jar off rhythm. Someone was screaming in Vietnamese, the sound cut off sharply as if with a knife. Probably it had been. He pulled the stick but that bird wasn't going anywhere. He'd failed. Then Cody was yelling. Cody was outside somewhere. His best friend in this steaming, rotting hellhole. Maybe his best friend ever. Cody was in trouble and Nick must not fail anymore._

_Nick was trained. He was tight. He had his shit together and well secured. But Cody was screaming and Nick was out of the cockpit before he knew he was going to move. He didn't even know when he'd unbuckled his harness, or how the gun got in his hand. He hit the ground, tucked and rolled, and came up shooting. A Charlie went down and there was Cody, limping back into the landing zone. Maybe going for one of the incoming birds. And behind him was someone else. Charlie in his black pajamas, sneaking up with bayonet in hand. Even at this distance, Nick recognized the Army bayonet and knew he'd taken it off an American. And he was about to get another. Nick raised the pistol he didn't know he had and shouted at Allen to get down. _

_Cody was trained, too. His shit was together and better secured than Nick's would ever be. He threw himself down flat as a bullet whined overhead. A body fell and then Nick was screaming, too. Cody rolled over, bringing his own rifle to bear, and shot the VC who was even then swinging his stolen bayonet. On the ground behind him was a GI in green, someone Cody hadn't known was there. Nick hadn't either. His eyes had been on his friend and the crafty little man in black. He would never know how he managed to shoot Private Gary Thomas instead. All he would ever really know was that Cody was essentially okay and Private Thomas was not. Private Thomas, a nineteen year old farm boy from Minnesota, was going to lose his right leg at the knee and never drive a tractor again._

_He helped Cody get Thomas under cover and heard the mortar that hit his crippled slick, lighting up the LZ like the fourth of July. That was all he remembered. Someone must have come in and picked them up, flown them back to base, because later on, they were there. Later, he was in his tent and Cody was with him, and it was okay, except that Private Thomas was still shot and he didn't know how they got out. Nick would never know. He just repacked his shit, tightened it up again, and went on flying while Thomas lost his leg and went home. A few months later, Nick went home, too. He kept his shit together, kept it strapped tight, and always looked out for friendlies when he pulled a weapon. _

But tonight he fucked up and Thomas was shot all over again.

"No," Cody was saying, his warm honey voice penetrating the jungle haze behind Nick's eyes. "Thomas was a long time ago. He's okay now. Everyone's okay now, Nick."

"I shot him," Nick murmured, his face still buried in Cody's warm, bare skin.

"It was a long time ago," he repeated. "He's okay now. It's all over."

"It's not over for him," Nick said, and Cody took heart. That at least sounded like he was back in the present.

"Yeah, it is. He went home and got on with his life. Remember? He wrote to you. We still have the letter somewhere. Thomas got married and bought an auto parts store and it's all over. You didn't kill him, and you didn't shoot Murray."

Nick started at that and Cody's heart skipped. _Too much? Too soon? Were they going back in time again? _

"Where's Murray?" Nick demanded, his voice that of the chopper pilot responsible for his men. Suddenly he was trying to get up, fighting Cody's restraining hands, and Cody slung a leg across his hips to hold him down. One knee struck a hard blow to Cody's thigh and he shoved Nick back against the stove, smacking his head and bringing him around a little.

"Let's get a grip, buddy," he said, quiet but firm.

"Where's Murray? I shot him, Cody. Where is he?"

"You _didn't_. Get that straight right now. He doesn't have a scratch on him, understand?"

"But—but I…"

"You tore his shirt. He's _fine_, Nick. He hit the floor and crawled to his room for his gun. He was coming back to help us when you came down and tripped over him. That's why he was on the floor; he was staying low in case there were more shots." No one had told Cody this, but he guessed it was so, and his guesses were good. He wasn't a detective for nothing.

"So he's really not hurt?"

"No, not at all. The last time I saw him, he didn't even look scared anymore."

"The last time you—where is he?" Nick was fully there now, his blue eyes bright and alert, and when he shoved Cody away it was forceful enough to make his friend back off.

"He went with Quinlan to call out the cavalry."

"He—you let Quinlan take him?"

"I couldn't stop him," Cody said, finally beginning to sound frustrated. He grabbed Nick's hands and hauled him to his feet, spun him in a little dance and shoved him into a seat at the table. "This is a massive police clusterfuck and you know it. You were off trying to retake Saigon and I was trying to keep Quinlan off you, so there wasn't a whole lot I could do for Murray. Who, by the way, doesn't need our help anyway."

"Is he under arrest?" Nick asked, humbled by Cody's angry words.

"No, of course not. He's just off explaining his printouts to whoever has the authority to take down Bryce Temple."

"Do you think he's okay? Quinlan won't let Temple get him, will he?"

"No way. He can't afford to lose a civilian. Think how that'd look on his record. Here, I'm going to make you some coffee. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks, man. I don't even know why that happened."

"It happened because you thought you hurt a friend. But you didn't. It's okay, really." Cody kept saying that, his voice low and soothing, no longer frustrated or afraid.

"I still don't remember shooting Gary Thomas," Nick said quietly. "I don't even remember getting down from the chopper. I knew I had to, it wouldn't lift off and I knew the mortars were coming, but I don't remember doing it. I heard you screaming, you had that bullet in your leg, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with my sidearm in my hand. I don't remember pulling the trigger, even. Just picking up Thomas, and you limping, and then we were in the bush. The next thing I remember, we were back at base and I was helping you get your boots off, trying to make you see the medic."

"And I didn't want to because I was afraid of what would happen to you when I was gone. I didn't want them finding out you'd lost your shit out there."

"I know. Thanks, man," he said, taking the coffee cup, and Cody didn't know if he meant for the coffee or that day in Vietnam. "You really stuck to my ass after that."

"I needed to know you were okay. And you were. You're okay now, too."

"And Murray…?"

"Yeah, Murray's okay."

"I don't remember. I ran into him on the floor," Nick murmured. "He said someone shot at him and I just—I don't remember anything after that." He sipped his coffee and tried to smile at Cody, who was leaning against the counter, doing his best to be casual.

"It's okay," Cody said, for what felt like the millionth time that night. But it was starting to seem like it might be.

"I'm sorry, man. I'm really sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Nick."

"No, there is. I fucked this up from the start. I should have listened to Murray; I shouldn't have shot in the dark; and when I did, I should have been man enough to keep it together and handle the consequences."

"It's got nothing to do with being man enough, babe. Everyone has this shit to deal with. Even Quinlan understood. Why do you think we're having this conversation here and not in a police station or a psych ward?"

"God, that bad?"

"Pretty bad. But it's over now. You know where you are, you know what happened, it's okay. Murray's going to help them nail Temple, and probably tell them all about his bottle rocket victory, and this whole mess will be over with by lunchtime."

"I bet we won't get paid, though." Nick rose and put his cup in the sink. His arms slipped around Cody's waist and then he just stood there, breathing deeply, feeling safe. Cody held him for a long time.

***

It was a very tired Murray who returned to the boat at ten a.m. to find his friends still in bed. He'd lost count of how many days he'd been awake now, but maybe it was time to sleep yet.

"Murray, you're back," Nick said, sitting up in the sunlit cabin. "How're you doing, babe? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He was taking off his clothes, putting on his pajamas even though it was midmorning, and Nick got up to look at him, examined his skinny arms and narrow chest as if there might be a wound he hadn't noticed yet.

"Murray, I'm sorry about last night. If I'd hit you…"

"Well, you didn't. It's okay, Nick. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"All right, maybe it matters to you, but not to me. I've had a really long night and that was nowhere near the worst part of it."

"Well, can I just say I'm sorry then? Because it was the worst part of _my_ night."

"Sure, Nick. You're sorry and I forgive you. Is that good enough?"

"It'll do," Nick said. "So tell me about your night."

Murray cast a longing look at the bed where Cody was now awake, propped up on one elbow, watching them. Nick saw the look and led him over, let him lie down and crawled in beside him. Murray turned to Cody, felt Nick pressed close against his back, and smiled faintly at the protective arm that wrapped around him. But the smile flickered and swiftly died.

"Mary Price-Temple-Whatever is dead," he sighed. "Her husband probably killed her right after we left their house last night. The police have a log of him running our plates at a quarter past seven, so he knew who we were long before he went home. He sent those guys after us and then he went to the airport. They caught him in line for a flight to Brazil."

"Shit," Cody said. Nick just hugged Murray harder and asked where he was all night.

"I was everywhere. About three o'clock they put me on a chopper to Sacramento and I turned everything over to the State Police there. They got the governor out of bed and everything. The investigation's going to be huge," he yawned. "Oh, and we're not supposed to leave town."

"Wait, you went to Sacramento?" Cody asked.

"By yourself? In the middle of the night?" Nick added.

"No, not by myself. It was a police helicopter, and Lieutenant Quinlan went with me. He stayed with me all night. I think he was afraid…" Murray trailed off, yawning again, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Afraid of what, Boz?"

"That something might happen to the evidence if he left me alone with the state cops. But it's okay. We told too many people for them to cover it up now. Guys, can we talk about this later? I'm really tired and there's going to be more stuff to do this afternoon when the prosecutors come."

"Prosecutors?" they said in unison.

"Yes, the state prosecutors. They want to talk to all of us."

"All right, Murray, you go ahead and sleep," Nick said, kissing the back of his neck softly. "You did a good job, you deserve to rest."

"Even if we're not getting paid," Cody added with a laugh. "I guess _Mimi_ will have to wait until our next case."

"_Mimi_?" Murray asked, craning his head back to catch Nick's eyes. "Gee, Nick, don't worry about that. I sold an article at the conference; there were all kinds of publishers there looking for—well, it's not important. It just means you can fix your helicopter. Goodnight, guys." He closed his eyes and was asleep before either could answer.

"Sounds like everyone had a busy night," Cody whispered. "Murray went to Sacramento and we went to Vietnam."

"Yeah. Thanks for bringing me back."

"Nick, I'm always going to bring you back. I love you, man."

"I know, Cody. I love you, too." He kissed Murray's tousled head, not wanting to wake him and Murray snuggled deeper into the pillows with a mumble that might have been _rockets_.

_Rockets?_ Cody mouthed and Nick shrugged. It was probably the least weird thing that would happen all day.


End file.
